comfort food
by finaljoy
Summary: Hunk was fine being the team cook, but he didn't expect to also become the team therapist, solving problems one bit of advice and delicious meal at a time. He didn't really mind, though. After all, it was like his mom always said; good food filled the stomach and the soul.
1. bread crumbs

_AN I inhaled Voltron and now I have many a feeling about everyone and now here's my excuse to show lots of emotions and bonding over food. Enjoy._

* * *

"Hey, Hunk?"

"Yeah, Pidge?"

"Why don't you make any human food?"

Hunk turned to look at her, eyebrows raised in surprise. She sat on the opposite counter, heels bouncing off a cupboard door.

"Uh…I dunno? I mean, I _do_ make human food, it's just…y'know…alien ingredients."

"Yeah, but you never make any dishes from _home._ It's meat, starch, veggies—great, but nothing that _tastes_ the same."

Hunk blinked at her, cycling back through his mental list of foods. He leaned a hip against the opposite counter, arms folding.

"Huh. I…guess not. It's not really a conscious thing, just…that's what happened. I don't really look at emorpha beans and see lasagna being made from their tentacles," he said, wriggling his fingers to imitate the weird, purplish pods and their disgusting roots (he'd been _horrified_ to discover that his favorite non-human dessert had been made from something that looked like a baby cthulu, but that was probably what aliens would say about artichokes).

Pidge snorted and rocked back on the counter. Hunk grinned and turned back to his bowl. His latest culinary adventure was dumplings, though he wasn't _entirely_ sure how some of the ingredients would handle being steamed to death. He stirred the filling a moment, considered, added a bit of salt, stirred again. He glanced over his shoulder.

"So…why'd you ask?" he said casually.

Pidge was aptly named, in Hunk's opinion. She was rather like a bird; approach too fast and she'd run off and likely never come back. Wait and offer her a crumb here or there, though…

"Oh, I dunno," she said, shrugging. "I just…you get homesick for the little things."

" _Yeah,_ " Hunk said, nodding. "I miss my sock drawer."

" _What?_ "

Hunk gave her a defensive look over his shoulder as he spooned out filling onto handmade wrappers. "Look, I am a man that enjoys comfortable feet, and I have yet to find an alien planet that has mastered anything like the cotton-nylon blend."  
Pidge snorted again. They were quiet for a moment, the kitchen filled with the sounds of him spooning out filling, her _thmp-thmp_ ing her sneakers against the cabinet.

"But seriously," she said. "Could you?"

"I dunno, sure. What do you want?"

No one on the team had ever give him requests before. Usually (and this was _after_ they had clicked their tongues and doubted his tried and true palate), they just horsed down whatever he laid out, then moved on without proper feedback. He hadn't really considered them as an audience he had to cater to. So long as it smelled fine and wasn't more of Coran's strange concoctions, everyone was happy.

"Oh, uhm, I dunno," Pidge said, startled by his easy acceptance. "I…I dunno."

" _Please_ don't say casserole," Hunk joked. "I'd rather eat more space goo than a casserole. Why don't you grab a spoon and make yourself useful, anyway?" He gestured the bowl at her.

"Hunk, the best thing I can cook are brownies from a box."

"Well, now the best thing will be space dumplings. Wash your hands."

She slid off the counter, mouth pursed in a petulant line as she washed her hands, then sauntered over to him. She stood beside him awkwardly, staring at the line of crimped dumplings he had already made.

"I don't know how to do this," she said. "Your little meat things are gonna turn out terrible if I—"

"Pidge. You take a scoop then fold. Relax."

Hunk showed her the laborious technique (scoop, place, fold, crimp, set aside), then handed off the spoon. She grimaced at him, then scooped out a spoonful of filling. After a few awkwardly shaped dumplings, she seemed to get the hang of it.

"Could you make something like a chicken pot pie?" she asked after a long moment. Hunk glanced at her, but her eyes were fixed on her work.

"Yeah, sure. I'll see what I can do."

She nodded, eyes still down. They filled half the plate with dumplings before she spoke again.

"Why do you cook so much? I feel like this is literally the only place I see you in your spare time."

"Well, _you guys_ cook like cavemen, and I banned Coran from here, so—"

"No, but seriously. Why cook, instead of work on computers or something? You literally _never_ talked about cooking in school, but now food is the _only_ thing you think of."

Hunk shrugged, then checked the steamer he had jerry-rigged on the stove. "I didn't cook this much before. It was a hobby, but I didn't _actually_ have access to the kitchens at school, beyond stealing food with Lance or something. Now, though, we have hours of time that's just _empty_ , and I need something _not_ Voltron related to get me through the day."

"I guess," she said, adding another dumpling to the plate.

"It's kinda like therapy," he continued. "Like veterans who take up gardening. I can focus on making food and having fun, but not feel guilty or stressed at wasting time or something."

Pidge shrugged, scraping her spoon around the bowl for the last of the filling. "I _guess._ I just don't see anyone else with a hobby like this. _I_ don't need a hobby. I haven't really thought about it."

Hunk smirked and rolled his eyes, because, _yeah_ , no one on the magic space castle of hope could _really_ be said to have proper coping mechanisms. But he also figured that commandeering alien tech and creating new programs were Pidge's version of cooking.

"So I know why _I'm_ in the kitchen a lot," Hunk said, taking the plate and loading the steamer. "What about you?"

Pidge froze like she'd been caught doing something wrong, shoulders drawn up to her ears. "I—I—I dunno, it's just a kitchen. It's not that weird."

"Pidge, you're literally the only person who comes and hangs out with me in here." Ignoring the mice, of course, because Hunk was pretty sure they were less interested in spending time with him and more interested in stealing snacks for Allura.

Hunk shrugged again, turning to face her now that the steamer was full. Pidge scuffed her feet, then looked at him.

"It's just nostalgia, is all. Back home, the kitchen was the center of our family. Mom would cook, Matt and I would do homework or plays games at the table, Dad would read the paper… That's just what we did."

Pidge's expression remained soft for a moment before she straightened and plastered on a fake smile.

"Old habits, or whatever. Tell me when the dumplings are done, 'kay?" she said, then sailed out of the kitchen.

Hunk shook his head and started on the dishes.

All it took were a few crumbs and some patience, and then something magic would happen.

The following week, after another Galra outpost crisis and an aggressive food scouting expedition from the local markets, Hunk produced a frankly delicious chicken pot pie. Pidge beamed at him when he carried a still-hot slice into her room. She also started carting her tablet or newest project into the kitchen, working at a secluded part of the counter. She didn't say anything about it, but she did offer to be his taste tester, and, if she wasn't too engrossed, would help him do the dishes.

A few days after that, Keith poked his head into the kitchen.

"I, uh, heard you take requests?"

"Yeah! What do you want?"

"Tex-Mex," he said, then slunk away before he caught a case of the feelings.

Hunk grinned and reviewed his ingredient list.


	2. staying busy

_AN Thank you everyone for your lovely response, even though I was a fruit cake and didn't update for waaaaaaay too long. That said, this story doesn't even know what plot is, so I can't say if there's going to be any consistency in my updating schedule. I'll try to be more frequent, though!_

* * *

Despite his earlier optimism, making a proper Tex-Mex anything proved basically impossible for Hunk. Putting aside his basic lack of knowledge in the many degrees of Americanized Mexican food (of which, Keith swore, there were many), finding basic ingredients was a head ache and a half. Peppers, for example, seemed to be isolated to the human end of the universe. As in, a low-interest area of Galrans and therefore Voltron. As in, so far beyond Hunk's reach that is was almost funny.

And yeah, Keith brushed it off and said it was no big deal, but by then it had become a point of personal honor to get the food right. Keith didn't ask for a lot. Hunk intended to follow through when he did.

So there he was, slogging through some disgusting swamp, hoping and praying to find hofan flowers that maybe, _maybe_ were approximations for chili peppers. He had described spicy food to every single sentient creature he had come across, and so far this was his best bet.

Hunk hadn't exactly been _excited_ when the trees proved too thick for his lion to get through, and was much _less_ excited when he climbed out of his lion to discover it was not only insanely humid and boiling hot, but also smelled. Not like a Bog of Eternal Stench smell, but like… _too much outside_ smell. Hunk liked inside places. Inside places had computer banks and refrigerators.

"Buddy, I think this cooking thing has begun to verge on obsessive," Lance said, voice kind yet exceptionally unhelpful over the comm link.

"No, I just need to find some flower— _I will end you fish if you touch me._ " Hunk glared at the fish _thing_ circling his feet. He wasn't sure if it had teeth, but it _did_ have one very scary looking sucker.

Hunk _so_ did not love nature just then.

"Ah- _huh,_ " Lance said. "All I'm saying is that you have _literally_ been grunting and swearing for the last half hour."

"No I have not," Hunk growled. He squinted through the murk, _praying_ that the orange speck in the distance was a hofan flower, and not a lizard like the last three false alarms.

"Everyone has turned off their comms because you were annoying," Lance said. "Plus side, though. The lions have a chat system. No one appreciates my smileys, although I have my suspicions that Shiro is a low-key emoji dude."

Hunk snorted, then held his breath as he crept closer, closer…

"Holy _yes_ it's freaking it, it's freaking _it,_ " he whooped, throwing a fist into the air as the image on his visor matched up to the flowering vine.

Lance joined in the cheering, always eager to celebrate. "Yes, alright! Flower thing! Now you can trek the fifty miles back to your lion."

"What _no,_ " Hunk said as he picked the flower. He felt more than a little offended at the thought of giving up after _one_ victory. "The people I talked to said I need a handful—at _least—_ to make a normal meal."

"Hunk, you were talking to giant sloths. Giant, eight foot sloths that eat entire _gardens_ for breakfast. I think one flower will be fine."

Hunk scowled as he slogged farther into the swamp. The water only rose up to his knees, though he kept an eye out for more hateful fish and sudden drop offs.

"Lance. I am doing a nice thing. Do not fight me on this."

"Yeah, but why are you spending your niceness points on Mr. Grumpy Pants?"

"Because _kindness_ has no limits," Hunk ground out, ducking under a branch.

Sweat dripped down his forehead, falling into his eyes. He grit his teeth, wishing yet again his helmet had some sort of cooling system. He would have taken it off, except then he wouldn't have been able to talk to Lance (which, though slightly annoying, helped pass the time), and he wouldn't be able to use the visor's scanning system to search for the flowers.

He dabbed at his cheeks, trying not to think about he smelled, or how his boots were probably little swamps of their own.

Kindness knew no limits, alright.

"What're _you_ doing, anyway?" Hunk asked. "I thought you guys were doing some ambassador thing with the king."

Allura, in a stroke of genius political maneuvering, managed to negotiate an alliance with a king on the planet they were visiting. Shiro had been put in charge of the glad handing, including a complimentary display of the lions' prowess. Since it was decided three members were more than enough, Hunk had gone off foraging.

"Oh, y'know, just chilling in my lion."

"You're not wooing uninterested babes?" Hunk asked, eyeing down another flower that was a good three feet out of reach. He glanced up at the dense foliage overhead. The chances of him using his jetpack to ease off the ground, gently snag the flower, and not be impaled were slimmer than he liked.

"First, _rude_ , second, _no._ Hanging out with the locals is less fun when you're by yourself."

Hunk grunted in response, testing his weight on a tree branch. It gave an ominous creak, making him quickly let go.

"So you've just been spamming the others via PM?"

"Something like that." Lance sounded utterly unconcerned by the potential of annoying their teammates.

"You need a hobby."

"Like killing myself for the perfect soufflé?"

"I swear, Lance, you are my best friend but I will literally hang up on you right now if you don't quit it."

"Geez, sorry, okay. No need to get grumpy 'cuz you're sweaty and overworked."

There was a long moment of silence as Hunk assessed just how dangerous it would be to leap off a rock, whack the vine with a stick, and _not_ land in a sink hole. He ran his hand along his collar.

"Staying busy is hard away from home," Lance said softly, more a thought for himself than for Hunk.

Hunk hesitated, perched on the rock, stick in hand. The heaviness in Lance's perpetual sunshine-and-water-balloons voice made Hunk wish they were face to face so he could give him a hug. Then again, knowing Lance, he likely wouldn't say anything if Hunk _had_ been right there.

"I know, man," he murmured. "A lot of things are hard away from home."

* * *

In the end, Hunk managed to collect four hofan flowers, sustaining only minimal bruising in the process (none of which, he was smug to note, came from the acrobatics required to get the second flower. He was less smug to admit that it came from panicking on the way back to his lion when the sucker fish latched onto his boot and he fell butt first into the swamp). He had to take a good twenty minute shower to loosen the last bits of swamp crap, but he _had_ them.

Actually using the hofan flowers was a whole different ordeal, as he was only vaguely certain of how to cook them, and he would rather poke his eyes with fingers covered in lemon juice than go back to the swamp. Lance popped by halfway through Hunk's attempt at enchiladas, distracting Hunk from his worries with his usual jokes.

"Honestly, I feel like _I_ should be the one that gets to try them first," Lance said, lounging on a bar stool as they waited for the enchiladas to finish cooking. "I was emotional support. Kinda like the whole Little Red Hen thing, where only her chicks helped her so they're the only ones who get the bread."

"Nice try, but you literally just sat and talked while I did the heavy lifting," Hunk said, scrubbing down a bowl.

"I can help! I can help with the dishes!"

" _Oh please do_ ," Hunk sighed gratefully. "I haven't had time to figure out how to work the dishwasher yet."

"Holy crap, you've been washing everything by _hand_?" Lance asked, taking the towel from him. "You sound like my grandma."

"I _feel_ like a grandma," Hunk sighed, resting his head on his arms.

They were quiet a moment, then Hunk snuck a look at Lance. Looking at him now, no one would guess anything could have ever been wrong in his life. No fighting for the universe every other week, no estrangement from his family, no near brushes with death. No somber confessions over comm.

"So what is it _you_ do in your down time?" Hunk asked casually. "I feel like I have no idea what you guys are into when we're not training."

"Oh, I dunno. I explore, mostly," Lance said. He had shed his jacket to avoid getting dish water on it. He had more scars on his arms than Hunk remembered at the Garrison. "Did you know this place has an art gallery? It's kinda cool, in a creepy way, I guess."

"Creepy? Like, Scooby-Doo creepy, with spider webs and dark corners?"

"No, like…I dunno. Like surrealism creepy. A lot of things morphing into weird animals, buildings melting, people's bodies working like puppetry."

"Igh, creepy."

"Yeah, I guess. I asked Allura about it, and she said it had something to do with Altean mythology. Though, to be fair, the Greeks probably look weird to aliens, too."

"I hope so," Hunk grimaced.

"But yeah, not much. Just cruise around, try stuff out. Gotta master everything so I can officially be the _jack of all trades_ ," Lance said, snapping up a pair of finger guns. Hunk laughed, throwing his arms up to protect himself from droplets of dishwater.

The oven beeped, turning Hunk's laugh into a groan.

"What? No groan, beeping oven is good!" Lance said. "It's food time!"

"Yeah, but it means I gotta _get up,_ " Hunk moaned.

He forced himself to his feet and ambled to the oven. It certainly looked delicious, the cheese just beginning to bubble on top, but that was not guarantee of flavor.

He pulled the pan out, tentatively slicing into it. Lance appeared at his shoulder, offering a plate.

"You nervous?"

"A little," Hunk said. "I'm literally going to die if I have to go back to that swamp."

"I could try it first, see if it's passable."

" _No,_ first piece goes to Keith. It's his request." He put an enchilada on the plate, then hesitated. "Do you think we could just hide this from him if it doesn't taste right? Cover the whole thing up?"

"I don't see why not," Lance said. "I mean, he'd have to stop sulking for two seconds to—"

"Is, uh, is the food ready?"

Lance and Hunk jumped and turned in unison to find Keith standing in the doorway. Hunk shot Lance a look _(see what you get for talking crap behind someone's back?)_ , which just made him wrinkle his nose at Hunk ( _what, I say it to his face, too)._

"Uh, yeah, I think," Hunk said, looking back at Keith. His stomach flipped from nerves. "I just pulled it out of the oven, so I don't know if it's any good, yet."

"I'll try it," Keith said, taking a step into the kitchen. He looked uncertain, like he needed permission before entering Hunk's sacred space.

Hunk gestured him to the counter, nodding. "Yeah, sure. Lance, you want some?"

"Hey, I got it right here," Lance said, sliding out of reach with the plate that was supposed to be Keith's. Hunk scowled at him, then grabbed another plate.

As Lance passed Keith, he clapped him on the shoulder. "He basically killed himself over this, so don't be an ass if it's not perfect, okay?" he muttered.

Keith started, the beginnings of a protest already forming, then glanced across the room at Hunk. Hunk, in turn, pretended not to notice as he loaded a new plate for Keith. He was touched by Lance's concern, but he doubted any of them would have known what to do if he acknowledged it.

"Alright, I'm out." Lance called over his shoulder.

"Are you sure?" Hunk asked.

"Yeah, yeah. Thanks for the food!"

Lance sailed out of the kitchen, leaving the two of them alone. Hunk passed the plate over to Keith, stomach twisting. He busied himself with another serving, too afraid to watch Keith dig in.

After a few moments, Keith said, "It's good."

"Are you sure?" Hunk asked, turning back around. "Like, how's it _really_ taste? Are the spices good?"

"I mean, it's a little more cheese than I usually like, but yeah, it's good."

"Okay, let me stop you right there. There is _nothing_ wrong with more cheese," Hunk said. His anxiety butterflies had fluttered away, though, and he sank onto a stool next to Keith. He took a bite, then nearly collapsed in relief. It tasted fine, thank goodness, and it had just a hint of spice.

Which meant that he _had_ to go back to the swamp, if he ever wanted to make spicy food again.

Keith cleared his plate, then went back for seconds, sparing Hunk from further worries of him just being polite. They didn't talk much, but Keith lingered a moment after he put his dishes in the sink.

"Thanks for dinner," he said awkwardly. "I, uh…thanks. That was pretty cool of you."

"No problem," Hunk said. "I mean, I would have been in here, anyway. It's always good to share the love."

Keith smiled, then left the kitchen.

Mixed bag, Hunk decided. The whole Tex-Mex debacle was a mixed bag. On one hand, it had been a pain and a half to get the end result. But the end result…that was alright.

* * *

 _AN heads up, we're not gonna stay in fluffsville for forever_


End file.
